colleen-brown - Hello Poetry

I sat atop the roof so high, And sang my mournful lullaby. Years went and the tears went Pouring down my face. A crier At heart, emotions run my game, Though I was never taught how to play. When the going gets tough, Pull yourself up by the bootstraps, Making sure not to hang yourself In the process of “equality for all”. There’s nothing equal about love, and There’s nothing fair about emotional reactions. Both happen spontaneously, subconsciously, And Suddenly You’re living a life you never imagined. I’m tired of singing this sad soliloquy. It’s time to leave the roost.

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Jun 23, 2024

Jun 23, 2024 at 10:04 PM UTC

Singing Sorrow

I sat atop the roof so high, And sang my mournful lullaby. Years went and the tears went Pouring down my face. A crier At heart, emotions run my game, Though I was never taught how to play. When the going gets tough, Pull yourself up by the bootstraps, Making sure not to hang yourself In the process of “equality for all”. There’s nothing equal about love, and There’s nothing fair about emotional reactions. Both happen spontaneously, subconsciously, And Suddenly You’re living a life you never imagined. I’m tired of singing this sad soliloquy. It’s time to leave the roost.

18

The more responsibility I gain, Further away I want to run. Life pushes on my shoulders, And it no longer seems like fun. My back yearns for the ability To sprout wings and fly. Escaping from the chaos within Is the only way I'll get by. I'm scared that this mundane life Will ultimately be my torturous end. How can I escape from this road, When I can't even see where it bends?

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Dec 4, 2014

Dec 4, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC

Ramblings of the Misguided Mind

The more responsibility I gain, Further away I want to run. Life pushes on my shoulders, And it no longer seems like fun. My back yearns for the ability To sprout wings and fly. Escaping from the chaos within Is the only way I'll get by. I'm scared that this mundane life Will ultimately be my torturous end. How can I escape from this road, When I can't even see where it bends?

12

When two people, so different in taste, look at each other from across the dance floor, a secret sparks out of their eyes like electric rays of romantic notation. Words have yet to be exchanged, but the slow steps towards one another make time slow to an unearthly crawl. Those dancing are nothing more than hues of grey, for the two ash-stricken lovers cannot see more than those they are attracted to. Hearts pound to a rhythm that can no longer be found within the upbeats of the swaying samba. As she longs to be in his arms, he stops only inches in front, his breath caught in his throat. The increasing amount of love being released from just his simplistic gaze makes her want to run as far as she can. With him of course, though it is not a realistic approach to the turmoil surrounding their troublesome secret. A secret that increases as he gently slides his fingers against her cheek, resting the palm of his hand on the back of her neck. Feeling the contrasting temperatures of the cool evening and her racing heartbeat, her head begins to get foggy with the vision of love that is shortly about to engulf her every fiber. The kiss, so gentle and sweet, brings back the times of innocence that was not thwarted by the interruption of time and changed lives. If only they could run away…

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Oct 16, 2014

Oct 16, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC

Upbeats of the Swaying Samba

When two people, so different in taste, look at each other from across the dance floor, a secret sparks out of their eyes like electric rays of romantic notation. Words have yet to be exchanged, but the slow steps towards one another make time slow to an unearthly crawl. Those dancing are nothing more than hues of grey, for the two ash-stricken lovers cannot see more than those they are attracted to. Hearts pound to a rhythm that can no longer be found within the upbeats of the swaying samba. As she longs to be in his arms, he stops only inches in front, his breath caught in his throat. The increasing amount of love being released from just his simplistic gaze makes her want to run as far as she can. With him of course, though it is not a realistic approach to the turmoil surrounding their troublesome secret. A secret that increases as he gently slides his fingers against her cheek, resting the palm of his hand on the back of her neck. Feeling the contrasting temperatures of the cool evening and her racing heartbeat, her head begins to get foggy with the vision of love that is shortly about to engulf her every fiber. The kiss, so gentle and sweet, brings back the times of innocence that was not thwarted by the interruption of time and changed lives. If only they could run away…

1

This might not be a poem: more so a realization at most. The complaints I have throughout the day are anything but morose. Walk an hour in another man's shoes, and suddenly life has so much more I could lose. Where could I be in that first step? I could be standing in the flip flops of a beautiful friend , taking care of four children as a new widow. I could be in sneakers as the man selling newspapers in the desert heat day after day. I could be in a different shoe every day, as a comedian loved by all, who could make everyone laugh, but himself. I could be in heels in a doctors office, facing the reality of only a few months left. But I'm not. My shoes are worn, but my heart is not. My days might be long, but my bed is warm. The jobs I work help keep our bills paid and our food plentiful. I was going to complain today: but when I realized how beautiful today was, I had nothing to say. Where could you be, in that first step?

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Aug 12, 2014

Aug 12, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC

A Realization of Another Man's Shoes

This might not be a poem: more so a realization at most. The complaints I have throughout the day are anything but morose. Walk an hour in another man's shoes, and suddenly life has so much more I could lose. Where could I be in that first step? I could be standing in the flip flops of a beautiful friend , taking care of four children as a new widow. I could be in sneakers as the man selling newspapers in the desert heat day after day. I could be in a different shoe every day, as a comedian loved by all, who could make everyone laugh, but himself. I could be in heels in a doctors office, facing the reality of only a few months left. But I'm not. My shoes are worn, but my heart is not. My days might be long, but my bed is warm. The jobs I work help keep our bills paid and our food plentiful. I was going to complain today: but when I realized how beautiful today was, I had nothing to say. Where could you be, in that first step?

8

One Two Three Four Five. A poem for you to count. Six Eight Nine Ten...Oops.

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Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC

Learn to Count.

One Two Three Four Five. A poem for you to count. Six Eight Nine Ten...Oops.

3

March 19, the day you died. The day a friend had left our side. The call I got was short and swift. My head spun, my heart adrift. "Dead?!" I cried. How could this be? He had just left... ...I could still remember his glee. A wife and children, All left behind. His story is enough, to keep his spirit alive: A joyful man, friends with all, He loved his family, and trucked through every haul. A handsome son, and three beautiful daughters, All left behind: babes without their father. He landed on our soil, The land of the free. Destined to be in his box, His final resting memory. "I'm sorry for your lost" Just didn't seem right. I had only lost a friend, Not a mother, nor a wife. The funeral came, So bright and tranquil. He loved his life, And so many loved him. A beautiful day, for all to hear, Even when the bugle cried. We listened to it's mournful lullaby. I'm mad at you, but I'll be okay. I could never stay mad at that goofy face. Watch over your family, tuck them in at night, And I'll keep from saying Good bye, I'll simply say, See you in the sky.

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Jul 11, 2014

Jul 11, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC

I'll See You, Dear Friend, in the Sky.

March 19, the day you died. The day a friend had left our side. The call I got was short and swift. My head spun, my heart adrift. "Dead?!" I cried. How could this be? He had just left... ...I could still remember his glee. A wife and children, All left behind. His story is enough, to keep his spirit alive: A joyful man, friends with all, He loved his family, and trucked through every haul. A handsome son, and three beautiful daughters, All left behind: babes without their father. He landed on our soil, The land of the free. Destined to be in his box, His final resting memory. "I'm sorry for your lost" Just didn't seem right. I had only lost a friend, Not a mother, nor a wife. The funeral came, So bright and tranquil. He loved his life, And so many loved him. A beautiful day, for all to hear, Even when the bugle cried. We listened to it's mournful lullaby. I'm mad at you, but I'll be okay. I could never stay mad at that goofy face. Watch over your family, tuck them in at night, And I'll keep from saying Good bye, I'll simply say, See you in the sky.

36

A snowy morning brings forth crisp chills. Kisses goodbye still hang in the air. Little feet scamper in to seek warmth. The bell sounds off, the teachers report. Children are laughing, they are having fun. Roll call is taken, and then math has begun. A dark shadow quickly casts upon the walls. A morning to forget unfolds... Innocence is youth, they always say. Yet how can you encompass innocence When your friends don't go home? When you see your mom break down? Children should laugh, children should play Parents shouldn't have to see them... Gone forever. How can one raise small minds in a cruel world? When lollipops and sugarplums no longer dance. Children are children, less never forget. Give them their youth, give them a chance.

0

Dec 9, 2013

Dec 9, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC

Children are Children

A snowy morning brings forth crisp chills. Kisses goodbye still hang in the air. Little feet scamper in to seek warmth. The bell sounds off, the teachers report. Children are laughing, they are having fun. Roll call is taken, and then math has begun. A dark shadow quickly casts upon the walls. A morning to forget unfolds... Innocence is youth, they always say. Yet how can you encompass innocence When your friends don't go home? When you see your mom break down? Children should laugh, children should play Parents shouldn't have to see them... Gone forever. How can one raise small minds in a cruel world? When lollipops and sugarplums no longer dance. Children are children, less never forget. Give them their youth, give them a chance.

19

Woe is me, for I am sad. The saddest of sad, for the reason being selfish. I feel myself fading into the background. I'm not mysterious, I'm not a new and shiny toy. (Person?) I just blend into the mold of adulthood. I want to capture life's greatest moments. I want to make people love with all of their heart. I want to stop having to defend my opinions. I simply want to make my mark. Do I want attention? Or do I want to be a better person? I'd rather be lazy if I could. Or would I? I need the motivation to start moving forward. Shouldn't that motivation be myself? I'm sick of being lazy. I need to stand strong. On my own two feet. For my own well-being. *Life is the longest moment in time that we have. I need to make it count.*

0

Nov 26, 2013

Nov 26, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC

An Anguished Soliloquy

Woe is me, for I am sad. The saddest of sad, for the reason being selfish. I feel myself fading into the background. I'm not mysterious, I'm not a new and shiny toy. (Person?) I just blend into the mold of adulthood. I want to capture life's greatest moments. I want to make people love with all of their heart. I want to stop having to defend my opinions. I simply want to make my mark. Do I want attention? Or do I want to be a better person? I'd rather be lazy if I could. Or would I? I need the motivation to start moving forward. Shouldn't that motivation be myself? I'm sick of being lazy. I need to stand strong. On my own two feet. For my own well-being. *Life is the longest moment in time that we have. I need to make it count.*

17

My days are a sad excuse for a living soul. I go to school and then come home. I cook and clean and mop the floors. I take a test and work some more. I scroll through Tickld for hours on end. I'd rather sit around and do nothing. All I can think about is how to earn money. Where did my imagination go? When I could run outside and be a lion. When I could write a book for no reason. When I could finish my work because I was proud. Now I hardly care about grades. I hardly care about my health. I see a mess and leave it to rot. My ideas revolve around money. I just can't get out of this slump. When did my life become so dull and plain? I just want to feel alive, again.

0

Nov 26, 2013

Nov 26, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC

Where Did *it* Go?

My days are a sad excuse for a living soul. I go to school and then come home. I cook and clean and mop the floors. I take a test and work some more. I scroll through Tickld for hours on end. I'd rather sit around and do nothing. All I can think about is how to earn money. Where did my imagination go? When I could run outside and be a lion. When I could write a book for no reason. When I could finish my work because I was proud. Now I hardly care about grades. I hardly care about my health. I see a mess and leave it to rot. My ideas revolve around money. I just can't get out of this slump. When did my life become so dull and plain? I just want to feel alive, again.

18

Drip Drip Drop. I just want to STOP. This torment in my mind Needs to go GOODBYE. I want to be H A P P Y What is that? How do I find it? How do I let go? I'm selfish. DISGUSTINGLY so. I'm young. GET OVER it. I need to change. so CHANGE. G e t t i n g t h i s o f f m y c h e s t m a k e s m e f e e l better.

0

Jun 10, 2013

Jun 10, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC

Jagged

Drip Drip Drop. I just want to STOP. This torment in my mind Needs to go GOODBYE. I want to be H A P P Y What is that? How do I find it? How do I let go? I'm selfish. DISGUSTINGLY so. I'm young. GET OVER it. I need to change. so CHANGE. G e t t i n g t h i s o f f m y c h e s t m a k e s m e f e e l better.

30